A. Fucking. Look. That’s all it took to go down this rabbit hole where, for the first time in my miserable life, I questioned my very sanity. For the first time in my life, I want something just for me.

  And as I stared into her blue eyes that looked so dark right now, not because of the shadows or lack of light but because she was vulnerable in my presence, I told myself there was no going back.

  I’d lost it in front of Leonid, showed him a weakness in his own fucking house. He wouldn’t forget it. He’d use it against me. He’d twist it and use it to his advantage. It’s what men like him did. It’s what I did.

  I’d seen it in the way he looked at me when I took Lina out of there. When he stared at her.

  I turned away and stalked back to the bar, pouring myself more vodka. Too much. I tossed it back and went for glass number four. The burn wasn’t there any longer, and alcohol was the last thing I needed. My head was already fucked up without the temptation of Lina in my apartment and the cloudiness of booze in my veins.

  I shouldn’t have told her I killed that fucker in the alley. But I’d taunted her, needed her to ask me so I could show her how far a man like me was willing to go for her.

  “Who are you? Who are those men? What is actually going on?”

  I didn’t turn around to face her. I stared at the wall straight ahead, my glass in hand, my fingers tight enough around the glass I hoped it cracked and tore my hand to shreds. It would give me something else to feel.

  “I’m a ba⁠—”

  “I know. You’re a bad man. I didn't ask what people see when they look at you, not what you see in the mirror. I want to know what’s going on, because if what you say is true⁠—”

  “It is,” I said, cutting her off.

  “Then with my life in danger, you owe me the truth.”

  How could this woman utter a few words and have something tight and uncomfortable inside my chest and squeezing my vital organs? I was now regretting not looking into her past, not getting any and all information on Lina that I could. I didn’t have a moral compass, yet when it came to her and finding out who exactly Lina Michaels was—who she really was—I found myself holding back, wanting her to be the one to confide in me.

  It was fucking stupid. A mistake. I ran a hand over my face.

  I turned around and looked at her. She was still against the window, but her gaze was steady as she watched me. It would be so easy to go up to her and press our bodies flush together, to curl my fingers around her throat and make her look into my eyes as I tell her she’s mine.

  Fuck, I envisioned myself burying my face in her hair and inhaling deeply before running my nose down the length of her throat, dragging my tongue up and down her soft skin. I could practically taste her in my mouth. Sweet. So sweet. I wanted to feel how fast her pulse would beat against my tongue, proving that she was just as affected by me as I was by her.

  “Don’t ask questions you don’t really want to know the answers to.” Did she want me to admit I was involved in the crime syndicate? Did she want to know everything that touched me, everything I owned, was because of blood money?

  She pushed away from the window and took a step toward me, but I didn’t miss the tremor that moved through her body. She was trying to be stronger than she felt. It was an admirable quality, but it was also a weak one. A human one that would do her no good.

  Lina kept moving closer, watching me cautiously. How close would she come? Would she get so close I could reach out and curl my fingers around her waist? Close enough to where I could press her body to mine and let her feel the physical reaction she brought out of me?

  “Are you part of that…?” She didn’t finish that question, but she didn’t need to. She knew what I’d say if I could have. She just wanted me to verify it. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. It wasn’t even about some moral compass, wasn’t because of the Bratva or the Cosa Nostra. At this point I didn’t care about any of that. I’d never tell her, because it would put her in even more danger.

  I said nothing. There were no words I could say. She looked away when it was very clear she understood, when she knew she wouldn’t get the answers she sought from me. I finished off my vodka and set the glass down. I tried to shut off my emotions, what I felt. They were messy and didn’t do anything but cause issues. They made a conscience rise up in somebody like me.

  “So what?” She looked back at me. “You can’t take me home because I’m in some kind of danger now?” She scoffed and looked away. So brave. Trying to be so strong. It was a turn-on. “You know nothing about me.” She looked back at me then, trying to hide the fear in her eyes.

  But it wasn’t for me. She was afraid of something else. Her past. I wanted to find who’d hurt her, who’d betrayed her, and make them beg me for death.

  “I’ve known bad men my whole life. I know how to survive. I don’t need anyone protecting me.”

  Something dark and possessive unfurled in my chest, tightening my heart, causing it to grow, the organ pulsing so hard I was sure it would rip through and crack my ribs.

  I wanted to be the one to protect her. I wanted to be the one who killed anything that threatened her.

  “Why are you doing this?” she whispered, and I hated that she had a tremor in her voice.

  You know why. Or maybe you don’t. But you will, and you’ll be even more afraid of me, because you’ll see I won’t let you go.

  But I didn’t say any of that. I took a step closer and watched her body tense, her eyes flare. “I caused issues for you with people you don’t want issues with.” I held her gaze with mine. “And until I fix it, until I can make sure you’re safe, you’ll stay here.” She opened her mouth, most likely to protest, but a slow shake of my head and a thinning of my lips stopped her. “You’ll stay here.” I took a step closer. I wasn’t lying about Leonid or the danger he presented, but I also wasn’t being honest about the situation. I wanted her here for totally selfish reasons.

  “You know nothing about me,” she whispered again. I didn't answer. “My work. My apartment.” She looked away.

  “The apartment is a shithole.”

  She snapped her head in my direction and narrowed her eyes. Her annoyance was an accelerant to my lust. “That may be, but it’s where I live,” she said in a low voice, all but sneering the words at me. “And I need to work. I need the money.” The way she clamped her jaw told me needing the money wasn’t just about needing to keep that shithole of an apartment. She needed money for other reasons.

  I said nothing as I stared into her eyes. I took a step closer until our chests almost brushed. I had to admit I fucking got off on the fact that she didn’t retreat, that she held her ground and met my stare with a thinly veiled pissed-off one.

  “Whatever you need, I’ll provide.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t like being indebted to anyone.”

  “Non-fucking-negotiable.” I crossed my arms over my chest, knowing she had a hell of a lot more to say. “Besides, as stubborn as you are, you don’t seem like the self-sacrificing type of human. Pretty sure you want to live, isn’t that right?”

  She pursed her lips even more. “And if I left when you’re not here? Ran… from you?” There was this challenge in her voice that had my blood turning to fire. I let a dangerous smile cover my lips.

  “I’d find you. No matter where you went.” I closed off any emotion then, turned, and started walking toward the hallway. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.” I knew she’d follow. She was strong, but she wasn’t stupid. Lina had felt the danger where Leonid was concerned, and although she knew I wasn't any better than the bastard, the unhinged aura Leonid didn’t even try to conceal was too strong for her to ignore. And for whatever fucking reason, little Lina trusted me more than she trusted herself to stay safe.

  She should fear me just as much as Leonid from principle alone. But she didn’t, and that had that possessive glint in me where she was concerned growing tenfold. One day it would consume both of us.

  One day soon.

  Chapter

  Thirteen

  Galina

  I stood in the center of what was clearly a guest room. I was pretty sure no one had ever even been in this room aside from a housekeeper. It was empty of life. It could have been a hotel room for how “warm and welcoming” it was.

  I scanned the room and took in how sparse everything was. The queen-size bed pressed against the wall in the center of the room. One dresser across from that. A TV sitting on top of it. There was a padded chair beside the lone window, the sheer curtains in place allowing muted light to filter through. There was a small bathroom attached to the room, and one small landscape painting that hung on the wall beside the bed.

  I walked up to the picture and stood in front of it. I hadn’t bothered turning on the lights. I was already sucked into the darkness, so I might as well get used to it. I stared at that picture, a serene beach scene with tall grass frozen in a swaying motion from the wind, waves hitting against the shore and causing white peaks, a long stretch of sandy land leading to paradise. There was even a little bridge leading down to the water.

  It was generic, probably had come with the apartment.

  I turned and looked at my backpack that sat on the dark comforter in the center of the mattress. I walked over to it at the same time I got out of the dress, feeling like the material was permanently stuck to me because of the blood. I let it drop to the floor unceremoniously as I reached into my backpack and pulled out a T-shirt and a pair of shorts.

  Once I was in the bathroom, I wasn’t surprised to see a toothbrush and toothpaste, soap, shampoo, even face wash sitting on the counter. All unused. I could’ve imagined this was a swanky hotel stay if I wasn’t being kept here against my will. But I wasn’t stupid. I knew that man—Leonid—was bad. Very bad. And for whatever reason, Arlo wanted to protect me. I wasn’t anybody special, had nothing to offer, but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth in my situation.

  I couldn’t pay him for keeping me safe. I could barely even afford to keep myself alive and safe from the men I was running from. I set my outfit on the granite bathroom counter and braced my hands on the edge, closing my eyes and just breathing. I didn’t want to look at my reflection. I didn’t want to see blood on my skin, a reminder of tonight.

  So instead I ignored the mirror and grabbed the shampoo and body wash, went into the shower, and cranked it on as hot as I could stand it.

  I scrubbed myself for twenty minutes until my skin was raw and red, until it was numb, and washed away any remnants of death. With my shirt and shorts on, I climbed into the bed, pulled the blanket over my head, and then let the darkness take me away.

  Something loud woke me with a startle, my eyes surging open, my heart racing. I hadn’t dreamed last night. I didn’t see scary faces surrounding me in the darkness, didn’t feel someone chasing me as I looked over my shoulder. I didn’t dream of being held down and blood covering me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept so soundly, where the nightmares didn’t drag me down and try to keep me there.

  I pushed the blanket off my body and sat up, wincing from the kink in my neck from sleeping in the same position all night. Morning sunlight streamed through the window. Even though I knew the hectic-day life was in full gear just outside the glass and steel, I didn’t hear honking cars or the thick life of traffic. I inhaled and smelled the faintest hint of lavender and lemon.

  I heard another sound come from outside the room, and I stared at the closed bedroom door for a moment before forcing myself out of bed and into the bathroom. After I used the restroom, I brushed my teeth and washed my face. I looked at myself in the mirror. My long dark hair was in unruly waves and cascading down my shoulders and back, tangles touching my cheeks. My hair was even more crazy because I'd slept with it wet, and trying to tame it was a losing battle. I gave up, grabbed a hair tie from my backpack, and was back in front of the mirror, pulling the long fall off my shoulders and into a ponytail.

  The bags under my eyes were horrendous, and they stood out like a neon sign against my too-pale face. But it didn’t matter. I wasn’t about to enter a beauty contest. I was quite literally trying to stay alive. So fuck it if I looked like the living dead.

  I left the bathroom and shut off the light, headed toward the bedroom door, and gripped the handle, my nerves taking control. I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway but didn’t move right away, just stood there trying to control my breathing. I didn’t hear anything, just the stillness of the apartment, which was a little unnerving. But then I shook my head to clear it, feeling stupid. A quiet house should be the least unnerving thing going on in my life right now.

  I stopped at the end of the hall and saw part of the kitchen and living room. My heart was thundering in my chest so loudly I wondered if it could be heard outside my body.

  There was a light sound of something being set down, and I leaned to the side and looked into the kitchen. There, sitting at the small dining room table, was Arlo. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of him sitting there shirtless, tattoos covering his body, some that were very clearly Russian.

  Bratva.

  It all fell into place as I took in the stars on his shoulders, the Russian-style cathedral tattooed in vivid, gorgeous detail in the center of his chest, and a Russian nesting doll inked on his entire right side. He had a myriad of other dark and colorful ink along his broad shoulders, biceps, forearms, and very defined chest.

  I felt a flush move through me so powerfully it was hard to catch my breath for a moment.

  My gaze landed on the gun sitting right beside his hand on the dining room table.

  Without looking up from the paper in front of him, he said in a deep, low voice, “If you’re a coffee drinker, there’s some in the pot. If not, all I have is water.” He flipped a page on the paper. “The pastries were just delivered and are in a box on the counter.”

  I didn’t move for a second, and he looked up at me, dark gaze slowly moving up and down my body. My shorts were high up on my thighs, my T-shirt long enough to cover them. It probably looked like I wore nothing underneath.

  Although I was fully dressed, I couldn’t help but feel like I was totally nude in front of him. I tugged on the hem of my shirt before diverting my gaze and making my way toward the kitchen. I could smell the coffee, and although I wasn’t much of a fan, I figured now was as good a time as ever to get a little caffeine fix.

  After I poured a cup, not bothering with sugar or milk because I didn’t want to go rummaging through his things, I opened up the box and grabbed the first danish I could see. I could still feel Arlo looking at me, but I refused to meet his gaze.

  Although I had so many more questions, I didn’t know if he’d be forthcoming with the answers. But then again, I wouldn’t know unless I asked.

  After I swallowed a bite of danish and washed it down with some coffee, I set the cup on the granite counter and looked up at him. He was back to reading the paper, and from the distance I could see it was in another language—Eastern European if I had to guess by the letters.

  Although he didn’t have a noticeable accent, a few times I had heard a difference in the way he pronounced certain words. “I didn’t realize you could get international papers in Desolation.” Truth was, I didn’t know if you could or couldn’t get anything in this godforsaken city. I hadn’t been here long enough, and it wasn’t as if I’d checked out the lay of the land.

  He leaned back in the chair, and I forced myself not to look at the way the muscles under his tattooed, golden skin flexed with that small movement.

  Arlo was a big man, broad shoulders, a wide chest, and a ridiculously defined abdomen. I could see the gray sweatpants he wore from this vantage point, a very outlined V of cut muscle starting on either side of his waist and disappearing underneath the material. I picked up my glass and took a drink. As soon as I swallowed too much liquid, I regretted it.

  I sputtered and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, my eyes watering, my tongue burning because the coffee was so damn hot. I turned my back to Arlo and coughed a couple more times, patting my chest and only turned around once I could breathe again. He still had his focus on me, but the corner of his mouth was tipped up ever so slightly, as if he thought it was amusing. I found a spark of anger and annoyance moving through me, but I didn’t say anything.

  “Desolation can get anything you want, Lina.” He lifted his coffee mug to his mouth and took a long, slow drink as he watched me. Don’t look at that bulging bicep. Don’t watch the way it clenches and relaxes just from him picking up a damn ceramic mug.

  “Italian, Russian, Spanish. Any language you want… anything you want, you can get for a price.” He set his mug down but kept his fingers curled around the handle. His other arm still rested over the back of the chair beside him. His position was easygoing and relaxed, and God, he made it look sexy.

  Maybe I was suffering from some instantaneous Stockholm syndrome? But I knew that wasn’t true. I’d felt this dark desire for him the moment I saw him months ago. Now that I was in his home… forced to stay here for my “own good,” I felt like I was losing my mind slowly.

  “Do you know how to fight?”

  His question took me off guard, and I eyed him as I swallowed another bite of danish. “I think?” I felt my face heat at the stupid words that just spilled from my mouth. “Well, I’ve taken a couple self-defense classes and always carry pepper spray on me. I can defend myself if needed.” I wondered if he’d seen me in the alley after I doused the asshole in the face with my pepper spray before kneeing him in the nuts and taking off.

  Although the truth was, I’d gotten very lucky in that instance, in being able to leave. The bastard had been stronger, bigger. All it would’ve taken was my hands to be restrained and my bag tossed away, and I would’ve been at his mercy. I wasn’t strong in the physical sense, and the few self-defense moves I knew wouldn’t help me if somebody really wanted to hurt me.